


Tokens of My Affection

by SweetSorcery



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: 1920s, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Ballroom Dancing, Caring, Carrying, Credence Barebone Gets a Hug, Credence Barebone Heals, Credence Barebone Needs a Hug, Dancing, Desperation, Don’t copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Formalwear, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Male Slash, Mild Sugar Daddy Kink, Night Clubs, Possessive Original Percival Graves, Protective Original Percival Graves, Romance, Sexual Tension, Slash, Smitten Original Percival Graves, Speakeasies, Sugar Daddy, Surprise Apparition, Surprise Kissing, Taxi Dancer Credence Barebone, Touch-Starved, Touching, Tuxedos, Unresolved Sexual Tension, accidental apparition, fluffbingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-07 05:50:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17954786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetSorcery/pseuds/SweetSorcery
Summary: Percival Graves loves to dance but hates to socialise. Taxi Dancers in a No-Maj night club seem like the perfect compromise. Ironically, the dancer he chooses turns out to be the most magical creature he's ever met.





	Tokens of My Affection

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Dreamwidth's [Fluffbingo](https://fluffbingo.dreamwidth.org/) Challenge. Prompt: Dance
> 
> This story is, in part, inspired by my love for this song, even if it's a handful of years too late for this story's setting: [**Home** \- Henry Hall and His Gleneagles Hotel Band](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=infbptoN4sg). Yes, you might have heard it in the soundtrack to "The Shining". :)
> 
>   
> 

Percy is swirling what remains of his drink in his glass, assessing the crowded dance floor. He's always enjoyed dancing, but he's never enjoyed socialising. Until he became aware, quite accidentally, of the No-Maj concept of taxi dancing, that conflict was somewhat problematic.

Now, here he is, in a No-Maj speakeasy catering to gentlemen like himself, rather than one of their dance halls buzzing with pretty young female dancers. All the dancers Percy can see are male—well-dressed young men in their 20s and 30s, available as dance partners for one song per token. He casually swirls his index finger through the thin tokens in his pocket and looks over the options. There are plenty of them.

A tall blond with a too-wide smirk tries to attract his attention, tilting his head as if hoping to catch a glint of light in his lacquered looking hair; Percival scoffs internally. A small, slight brunette is perched on a bar stool, looking at him longingly; he looks as if he might fall off at any moment, clumsy with nervousness or possibly drink. Then there's a broad-shouldered bear of a man who looks more like a bouncer than a dancer; Percy values his feet and his rib cage too much to subject himself to even the possibility of injury for the sake of a dance. A wavy-haired redhead catches his eye, but the disconcerting way the man blinks at him is rather unsettling; he knows the type, and it comes with stilted, awkward attempts at small talk.

Percy sighs. Even for the duration of a single dance, he is apparently unable to lower his ridiculously high standards. And even though he's not here to socialise, the idea of dancing with a self-obsessed clown or a desperate try-hard is utterly unappealing. He gives up on the idea altogether and approaches the bar for another cocktail, his lips parting to order a Sidecar—he feels in the mood for something sour—when he sees him, half-lurking in the shadows near the bar.

What he can see of his face makes Percy's mouth dry. His skin looks as pale and smooth as white satin, and the dark eyes and pink lips stand out markedly against it; oh, and how those lips look. Percy can at once imagine any number of ways he wants to make them even more plump, even more flushed, even more pink... or maybe red. Bitten red, like a ripe cherry. His collar feels too tight, and he tugs at it with one finger, the movement attracting the gaze of the boy.

The dark eyes widen and the lips part a little, but there is no other reaction to being under scrutiny, except for a slight flush of colour across high cheekbones.

Percy wonders whether the boy is even one of the dancers paid to dance with patrons, or whether he is seeking a partner like himself. There is one sure way to find out. He waves off the bartender, who is still waiting for his order, sets down his empty glass on the bar, and makes his way to the boy's side, smiling gently as he approaches. "Good evening," he says politely.

"Good evening, sir," the boy replies.

They are nearly the same height, though the boy easily has an inch or so on him. His voice is deep, but a little hesitant and nervous.

"Forgive me if I'm being presumptuous, but..." Percival withdraws one of the tokens and holds it out. "Are you a dancer here?"

The boy nods, reaching out to take the token, then withdraws his hand again.

Percival frowns. "Is something wrong?"

A sigh. "Before you waste your money, sir, I should tell you this is my first evening here. I have only the most basic knowledge of dance standards, to the extent that I was taught on being hired. I think someone more experienced—"

"No." Percival shakes his head, and speaks again, more softly this time, "No, I'm a perfectly good dancer, and a little inexperience is no obstacle to my enjoyment." His throat feels dry when he hears how the words sound. "I mean, I've seen no one else here with whom I would enjoy dancing." He holds the token out again, in the fingertips of his left hand, and presents his right arm for the boy to take. "Please, dance with me."

"No one else?" the boy asks, sounding astonished.

"No one." Percival waits patiently, trying not to breathe a sigh of relief when the coin-like object is taken from his fingers, pocketed, and a slender forearm slips under his offered arm, a white-gloved hand coming to rest just above his wrist. "Thank you," he says.

The boy blinks at him, blushing, and smiles. And how he smiles.

Percival has to tear his eyes away with real effort. He leads him to the dance floor, and they have found themselves a spot by the time the song changes and a slow foxtrot begins.

The boy wouldn't win prizes, at least not for his dancing—a beauty contest would be another matter altogether, but he's a perfectly acceptable dance partner, following Percy's lead with barely a misstep. When he does make one, he goes pink, and it looks so adorable, Percy finds himself wishing he'd do it again.

"I'm really sorry, sir," he says, the next time the tip of his shoe just barely grazes the tips of Percy's.

"Shh, it doesn't matter at all." Percy pulls him in a little closer. The boy gasps, and Percy realises he's forgotten, for a moment, that this beautiful creature is only dancing with him for money. "I'm the one who should apologise." He pushes him back a little. "I'll keep my distance."

"No, I... that's fine." The boy glances at him from the corner of his eye and hesitantly moves closer again, his breath warm against Percy's cheek.

Percy's heavy brows rise even as his pulse picks up speed. Well... that's a delightful development. He struggles not to smile, but he knows he's failing.

That's when the song winds down, and he barely suppresses a growl of frustration.

"May I have... may I buy another dance?" Percy asks.

The boy looks surprised but pleased. "Are you sure, sir?"

Percy smiles and withdraws the entirety of his purchased tokens from his pocket. He takes the boy's gloved hand and holds it, palm up, to drop them there.

"But..." Blinking owlishly, confused and stunned, the boy is even lovelier.

"Please," Percy simply says, and the boy smiles and nods, pocketing the tokens.

The next song is slower, and they dance as closely as is socially acceptable. Percy's hand on the boy's back moves a little lower, applying just the slightest bit of pressure to bring their hips closer.

"May I know your name?" Percy murmurs. "Mine is Percival Graves. I prefer Percy."

The boy hesitates for a moment. "Credence. Pleased to meet you, Percy."

"The pleasure is all mine, Credence. No surname?" The boy stiffens a little in his hold, and Percy quickly says, "That's fine, really, I understand."

"It's not that..." The boy, Credence, struggles to explain. "I'm sorry. It's just that I'm trying to forget my surname."

Percy frowns, and his hand on the stiff back moves in a few soothing circles without his conscious thought. "It's fine, Credence. There's no need to explain to me."

There's a soft exhalation. "Thank you."

The tense muscles actually relax then under his touch, and Percy feels a surge of protectiveness for the boy. For a kind word to make this much difference, there has to have been a shortage of kindness thus far. He promptly gets annoyed at himself for caring; he's here to dance, and the boy is here to make a little money... and to forget about his family, apparently. They shouldn't even be having a personal conversation. He was told the club's rules on arrival. And yet. And yet... he can't help himself. He casts a wandless, wordless privacy charm; it's not overly noticeable with the music and the sound of clinking glasses.

"Do you enjoy this job, Credence?" he asks.

"Yes, I do." There's no hesitation, but the words come out very softly, as if he feels guilty for it.

"Do you mind if I ask what you like about it?" Percy can't, apparently, stop himself from getting too personal with this boy. He tries to remind himself that the very reason he is here is because he wanted to dance without the obligation to talk and be social. He is, in fact, paying for the privilege of remaining silent to music. His mouth is failing to grasp the concept.

"I like music," Credence says. "It's dark here, and warm. And... and I was given something nice to wear."

Percy can't stop his hand tightening around the one he holds raised out to the side. "I see." An image flashes before his eyes of Credence outside in the cold, dressed like a street urchin, devising ways to avoid going home. He doesn't know if his mind is getting carried away, but there's something about the detached softness of the boy's voice that makes him think that, whatever he admits to, however unconscious he is of his admission, the reality is somehow worse.

"Do you like to wear nice things?"

Credence is silent for a moment, then says, "Yes, I do, but..." He doesn't finish. He doesn't need to.

"What else?" Percy asks, apparently unable to keep from needling him for information.

"Sir?"

"What's happened to 'Percy'?" He softens the question with a smile.

"Sorry, Percy. I wasn't sure what you meant by your question."

Percy isn't sure himself. Is he asking the boy what he likes to wear? Whether he'll allow him to buy him clothes? Sweet Merlin, he's in charge of upholding laws against associating with No-Majes, and here he is, having lined up half a night's worth of dances with one, and considering... what, exactly? He scrambles to come up with a more reasonable question.

"What else do you like about this job?" he asks. There, it's still unacceptably nosy, but it's better than offering to 'dress' the boy.

Credence makes a soft little sound, a kind of gulp paired with a cough, as if he's trying to swallow back whatever first came to his mind. "I... I can't say, Percy, it would sound strange."

The song changes and Percy, under the guise of adjusting his hold on Credence, shifts his hand on his back to reach further around his waist, bringing him even closer. Maybe he won't notice or, if he does, maybe he won't mind. His hold is loose enough for Credence to draw further away. "You can tell me. I've been known to be quite strange myself."

Credence laughs softly, almost as if he's surprised by it, and it makes Percy smile. "Well... it's this, really."

It's Percy's turn to be confused. "Dancing? You like to dance? That's nothing strange."

Credence shakes his head a little, his soft dark hair brushing Percy's cheek. They really are dancing rather close. "No, not that. I like the dancing, but—"

The more reluctant he is to confess, the more Percy wants to know. He fears he's being a pest about it, but he can't help himself when he tilts his head and whispers into Credence's ear. "Tell me."

He hadn't meant for it to come out like a demand, and he's about to apologise, when he realises Credence has taken a sharp breath, and he's shivering, his left hand tightening on Percy's shoulder and his right hand trembling in Percy's. 

"Tell me," he repeats, more softly, but possibly even more demandingly, his face tipped so his mouth is right up against the boy's ear, the tip of which is glowing a little pink; the effect is rather adorable.

"I... I like..." Credence is not breathing steadily now.

"What do you like, Credence?" An urgency has crept into Percy's voice, brought on by a sudden _need_ to know.

"I like to be... touched," Credence admits, his voice cracking on the last word, as if the admission broke something inside him. "I like being held. Close. Being held close as if I am... worthy."

Percy closes his eyes. He feels as if the walls of the club have been sucked away, out into space, along with every other patron. And somehow, he and the boy—he and Credence—are the only ones left, clinging to each other. And a moment later, he realises they are.

He's just accidentally apparated them to his home.

* * *

"Oh!" Credence gasps, clutching at Percy's lapels to keep from falling over.

"Sweet Merlin, I'm so sorry! I can explain that, but... are you all right?" Percy wants to hex himself at that moment, more because of how ill Credence looks than because he's just exposed the Wizarding world to a No-Maj. Accidental Apparition has not happened to him in many years. "Come on, sit down. You'll feel better in a moment. I'll get you a glass of water. Or a brandy." He winces at Credence's pallor. "Yes, maybe a brandy."

Credence lets himself be deposited on the sofa, leaning back.

"Do you think you might be sick?" Percy asks in concern, but Credence shakes his head. "All right, just sit there, with your eyes closed. I'll be back in a moment."

On his way to the mini bar, he waves his hand at the fireplace; the boy is too dazed right now to notice it springing to life, and if he's in shock, he'll need warmth.

He hurriedly sloshes a few mouthfuls of brandy into a glass, then considers that he's going to have to do some explaining—Obliviation does not even occur to him as an option—and does the same with another glass. When he takes them back to Credence, he's still sitting on the sofa as if he's been flung back against it, and the idea makes Percy gulp.

"Here, sip some of this," he says, sitting down next to him and holding one glass up to his lips.

Credence sniffs at it carefully, and Percy fights not to laugh at his expression. There's really nothing funny about this entire situation, and he can't begin to figure out where to start explaining. When Credence takes a careful sip, Percy squeezes his shoulder to let him know everything's okay. He tries to give him an encouraging smile.

Credence is looking at him over the rim of the glass, and his expression is... strange, somehow. He can't be getting drunk from a sip of brandy?

"Better not have too much," Percy warns gently. "It's strong stuff."

"Is it moonshine?" Credence asks.

"Um... no, it's brandy." Percy remembers about the No-Maj prohibition. "It's the real thing, don't worry. It won't make your teeth fall out or turn you green," he tries to joke. 

Credence nods, letting him take the glass away, and then he looks around, at once curious and nervous. "Are you a witch?"

Percy nearly drops the glass. That was not the question he expected. "What?"

Credence looks at him. "We were in the club, and then suddenly, we were here. It has to be magic."

Definitely needing to put that glass down now, Percy clears his throat. "You know about magic?"

"Not really." Credence is wringing his gloved hands, wincing slightly as he does so. "Only what my ma has told me."

"Is your ma a witch?" Percy asks, more confused by the moment. Is Credence a wizard? How is this possible? Why is he working in a No-Maj club?

Credence stares at him. "My real mother was, I think, because ma always tells me she was a wicked, unnatural woman. Ma is... she... she hates witches. And me." He's wringing his hands again, and something about his face tells Percy that it's hurting him.

"What's wrong with your hands?" he asks, reaching for them, but Credence pulls them away.

"Are you?" Credence asks, a little fearfully.

"I'm a wizard, yes." Percy doesn't exactly expect Credence to pass out, by this point, but he doesn't expect him to laugh either. "Is that funny?"

"No, not really." Credence shakes his head. He's breathing hard now, shallow and rapid breaths which will make him dizzy if he keeps it up. "It's just... my ma doesn't even know I work there. She thinks I work for a newspaper as an office boy, at night. She'd kill me for being a dancer for money, and dancing with men! But... if she knew that I'm here, with... with you..." He's shaking, looking on the verge of hysterics.

Percy reaches out, both hands on the trembling shoulders, and draws Credence close. He expects him to push him away, now that he knows what he is, as he's clearly been taught to fear him, but he does nothing of the sort.

Credence clings to him, arms around his middle. He's not crying. In fact, as soon as he's in his arms, and Percy embraces him, he starts to calm down. Percy can practically feel the tension leave his body. Of course, he likes to be held, he told him so. Fighting down his own brand of hysteria, Percy realises: that's how they ended up in this situation. A wave of warmth rolls over his skin.

"You have nothing to fear from me. I wish you no harm, Credence, please believe me." When he gets a small nod, he continues, "Witchcraft is not inherently evil, and if it's true that your birth mother was a witch, then chances are you have magic inside you too." Privately, he's begun to hope, with all his heart, that he does.

Credence draws back a little at that, staring at him.

Percy hasn't noticed, until then, how long the boy's lashes are, or just how dark his eyes look in the warm light from the fire.

"Do you really think so?" he asks.

Percy nods. "I think it's very possible. Have you ever made strange things happen?"

From Credence's guilty flush, he can tell he has. "Things have... happened, when I wanted ma to be distracted from..."

"Ma is not your mother, is she?"

Credence shakes his head. "She my foster mother. I had two sisters, but they've been taken away. I... I want to leave too, that's why I got the job." His hands are balled up on his thighs.

"Show me your hands, Credence. Please." Percy reaches for them and, this time, Credence allows him to take them. He pulls the gloves off one by one, carefully, revealing pale slim fingers and slightly reddened knuckles. When he turns both hands over, he fights to control his expression.

"I was lucky to be able to wear gloves, for the dancing," Credence says, almost dispassionately.

Lucky. It's very clear to Percy that Credence has been in desperately short supply of luck in his life so far. He wants to change that. He _will_ change that, whether or not Credence turns out to be magical. Looking into the trusting brown eyes, into the uniquely beautiful face, he decides that, either way, to him this boy is magical.

"Please don't be alarmed, Credence," he says. "I'm going to heal this."

"How?" Credence has barely finished the word when he gasps. He watches Percy's fingertips glide over his abused palms, watches every last wound and scar vanish and leave behind nothing but soft, pale skin. All the pain is gone.

Percy loosens his hold on the hands in his grasp and smiles at Credence, who looks thunderstruck. For a moment, at least, before he launches himself forward against Percy, healed hands on the sides of his face, fingertips at his temples, and then that lush red mouth is on his.

For a moment, Percy means to push him away. He doesn't want his gratitude expressed in this way, not when this is what he's been wanting all evening. But the taste of the boy, the soft plushness of his lips as they toy inexpertly with his, the tongue tip trying to gain entrance to his mouth without really knowing how, break down his scruples, for the time being, and he pulls Credence into his arms. He returns the kiss, turns it into something deep and searching, something... decadent.

Credence is whimpering around his tongue as if it has pierced his entire body and, before Percy even sees it coming, he's climbing over his lap, long legs on either side of him, torso pressing into his and making him lean back against the sofa.

"Credence..." Percy gasps into his mouth.

"Mmm," is all Credence manages between frantic kisses.

"Credence," Percy tries again. "You could..." Credence is starting to press his hips against Percy's belly now. " _Oh, Merlin_... you could just say... thank you."

"Thank you!" Credence pants against his open mouth.

Percy can't help it, he laughs. "Stop, just for a moment. _Credence!_ "

Credence stops at once, looking guilty and dishevelled. His carefully tied bow-tie is askew, his starched collar pulled sideways, his tuxedo jacket is half off one shoulder, and his mouth is swollen and looking redder than ever.

Percy groans. 

"I'm sorry. You don't want... I'm sorry."

"Credence, listen to me. Please listen. I _do_ want—"

He's not listening. He's trying to draw back, but Percy's hands are on his waist. "Thank you for healing me, sir. I'll leave now. I'll go."

"Go where?" Percy asks, trying to make several life-changing decisions for them both while buying time.

Credence looks at him, distraught when he realises something. "Oh, I... I just... left the club. They won't take me back." He drops his gaze. "I'll go home. I'll try to find other work."

"You are home," Percy tells him. 'Decisions made,' he thinks. He scares himself on this day like never before.

Credence stares at him. "I don't understand. You... you pushed me away."

Percy sighs. He does not let go of Credence, instead rubbing gently up and down his sides. "Listen to me, Credence. First, and most important of all: I do want you. I want you so much that, telling me you like being touched, being held, caused me to perform a type of magic only ever done under the most desperate circumstances, and then by instinct alone rather than conscious decision." He smiles at the boy's expression. "I _had_ to get you alone. Are you with me so far?"

Credence nods, waiting, looking rather stunned and more than a little excited.

"Good. Now, I've healed your hands because I don't want you to be in pain, not because I expect you to 'pay' me for it. And certainly not right after I've given you brandy and you might not be completely conscious of what you want."

Credence shakes his head this time. "I wanted you before the brandy," he admits.

Percy clears his throat. "You did?" Credence nods. "Well, I'm... relieved to hear that, but I still want you... to be completely sober if... when we..."

The boy is tilting his head, leaning his lovely face closer again, holding his eyes. "Is there a magical way to make me sober faster?" he asks sweetly.

Percy wants to smack himself. "Yes, there is." He coughs. "I wasn't finished explaining yet, Credence."

"Sorry." Credence sounds chastised but, clearly, he's well and truly caught on to the effect he's having on Percy too. His hands come to rest on Percy's shoulders.

"Well," Percy says, with determination. "Last: I'm not letting you go back to someone who hurts you." He looks at Credence's stunned expression. "Besides, if it turns out you're magical, you belong in our world, not hers."

"What if I'm not?" Credence asks. "Then I'll still have to go back."

"No." Percy's hands tighten on his waist. "If you're not, I'll help you find work and a place of your own in the non-magical world, and I'll set you up until you find your feet." He frowns, not liking that idea at all. "Or..."

"Or?" Credence is holding his breath, by the looks of it, almost as if he's expecting to be told he'll be shipped off someplace peculiar like a parcel delivered to the wrong address.

"Or you'll stay with me. You'll be able to do whatever you like, but you won't have to be on your own, and it'll be nice having someone around to... talk to, and..."

"Percy?" Credence interrupts. When Percy's eyes meet his, he says, "Can you make me sober now, please?"

Percy nods. He accios a suitable potion from the kitchen shelf and opens it, holding it out to Credence. "Swallow all of it," he says.

Credence nods and does so, while Percy watches his Adam's apple bob up and down, licking his lips. Then he gives him time to close his eyes, get his bearings, and his equilibrium—the effect of a sobering potion is a lot like the after-effects of Apparition—and then he looks at him searchingly.

"Percy," Credence says. "I'm sorry for... attacking you like that."

Percy's heart drops. "It's fine. You're not used to brandy."

"I'm not used to kindness," Credence clarifies. "I'm not used to wanting..." He flushes.

Percy's right hand strays up to Credence's sternum, where he rubs gently, soothingly. "Wanting what?"

"Someone." Credence's face lights up with a sweet smile, and he covers the caressing hand with his own. "You." He leans down again. "Percy, may I kiss you now?"

"Please do."

The words are barely out before Credence's mouth is on his. Softly, tenderly this time. He sighs into Percy's mouth when he's pulled close, hard up against him, one of Percy's hands on his back, the other on his hip. They move against each other in smooth, rhythmic nudges, while the kiss deepens.

Percy is breathing hard by the time his mouth is mapping Credence's throat, and Credence's fingers are in his hair while his breath drifts warmly over the crown of his head.

"I'm glad you can't go back to the dancing," Percy tells him, licking up over his jaw, kissing his cheek.

"Why?" Credence gasps. And then he gasps again when Percy's arm tightens around his middle.

"Because from now on, you'll come to me for any touching and holding you need, do you hear?"

Credence makes a happy, surprised sound. "Yes," he agrees easily.

"Come to me for anything you need," Percy tells him. "Anything at all." He kisses Credence again, hard this time, almost biting down on his tongue. "Ask, and it's yours."

"What if I were to ask for you?"

Percy chuckles against his mouth. "I did say anything at all."

Credence is smiling, he can taste it on his lips. And then he's gasping when Percy stands, lifting him easily, hitching him up around his hips and keeping him in the air with his hands under him. Credence is holding onto his shoulders, ankles crossed behind Percival, while he's being carried to the bedroom, where candles light up the moment they enter.

Later, he'll notice how beautiful the room is, how vast the bed, how thick and lush the drapes and how glittering the candelabras. Just then, he notices nothing but the gentleness with which Percy lays him down on the bed, the power he displays when he waves a hand between them to divest them both of every last scrap of clothing, and the overwhelming _rightness_ when Percy slides between his legs, holding and kissing him as if he's been saving up all his tenderness and passion just for him.

Credence learns, that night, that while being touched and held make him feel worthy, being kissed and devoured, ravished and taken, worshipped and loved, make him feel magical.... whether or not he'll turn out to be a wizard.

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://sweetsorcery.tumblr.com/), and we can squee about this and maybe other pairings/fandoms we love. I'm also on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/sweetsorcery) and [Dreamwidth](https://sweetsorcery.dreamwidth.org/). Feel free to drop me a message anywhere. :)


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